


Handler Protocols and Other Related Things

by WindyRein



Series: oh there you are; i've been looking for you [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Wings, Developing Relationship, Heist, I Tried, Incorporeal Wings, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Peter, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, POV Peter Hale, POV Stiles, Wingfic, Wings, You get wings when you meet your soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 13:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyRein/pseuds/WindyRein
Summary: It starts with some really sketchy Craigslist ads and it ends with a coffee shop and his soulmate. Not bad if he says so himself.





	Handler Protocols and Other Related Things

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soulmates with Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9578396) by [WindyRein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyRein/pseuds/WindyRein). 



> A couple of **disclaimers** at first:  
>  1) I have never been part of running a coffee shop (except as a customer).  
> 2) All I know of college in the US comes from movies and tv and tumblr and fic.  
> 3) I have never been part of any intelligence organization or operation, at least to my knowledge :D  
> 4) There's an acid mentioned in this, and some science concerning it gets handwaved but, please, just go with me on this. (and yes, it's basically a real world acid)  
> and 5) I've never taken part in a heist or other major criminal activity. (jaywalking doesn't count, right? xD)
> 
> This fic brought to you by [Malukah's Dragonborn Comes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wr-buV4tYOA) and [Imagine Dragons' Monster](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhSA9H9Iaqw) but mostly by [Haloo Helsinki!'s Rakas](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5SNvdXmAUY) (which doesn't even fit the feeling of this fic? like wtf?) Also, if you want, I can do a quick&dirty translation of the lyrics :D
> 
> So, I finally grew tired of reading and re-reading and adding bits and taking others away and just... I'm pretty happy with it, so, here, try and enjoy. :)

It's... It's not like Stiles _really_ needed the money, what with the scholarships and his college fund and his dad but then again, he liked eating things other than ramen and tuna, and a movie every now and then wouldn't go amiss and he really didn't want to live in a dorm with a roommate and, yeah, he might need the cash.

The first couple of times, it had been some really sketchy Craigslist ads and he doesn't like to think about it, but apparently, someone had noticed him not getting killed and/or caught (he really wasn't sure which would've been better, what with his decidedly twinkish looks) and gotten interested and after that, well... The rest is history as they say.

Except not really, since he's still in college, Peter, his "handler", was still just a mysterious, although undoubtedly sexy, voice on the phone or in his comm and he still needed to worry about his dad or Scott figuring out what he was doing when he wasn't with one of them or at campus.

So, yeah, Stiles might be a gun-for-hire or "agent" as that prissy ass brunette had called it when she'd come up to him at the quad and made her sales pitch but hey, at least he was getting more life experience out of college than how to deal with a collection of STDs and a life-crushing debt.

***

No-one knew when or where the wings had come from or even _why_ at the heart of it did humans manifest them when they met a specific person. There were theories about wavelengths and resonation and the magnetic fields humans generated but no-one knew for certain. All that was known was that 99.7% of the time the people whose wings had manifested when they met ended up living their lives together until one died and the other, 54% of the time, went mad to some degree. Not that this meant the relationships were always romantic, not at all. There were even documented cases of twins being born with their wings already manifested.

As for how the wings looked, it was the general consensus they reflected  their owner's personality, though, again scientists didn't have a concrete answer as to _why_ or even _how_.

***

Stiles was sitting at the mouth of an alley on the other side of the street from his current target (some up and coming tech company or something, he'd tuned peter out when he'd passed the important bits, he didn't need to know the specifics of their poker skills to rob them after all).

Most people avoided him just because of the smell he'd cultivated carefully over the last couple days _(and thank god for spring break or he would've had to come up with another surveillance plan and peter wouldn't have been happy to ditch his "masterpiece")_ and those who weren't appalled by his smell usually took a step or two closer to the edge of the sidewalk when he started twitching and mumbling to himself, and, as a last resort for those who really didn't know how to stay out of his business, he had the creepiest crazy eyes in his circle of acquaintances _(there'd been a competition one night after a few beers and a couple rounds of shots)_.

(peter chuckling in his ear whenever someone actually shrieked because of him helped an awful lot with his miserable existence playing a homeless person _(the smell was **bad** , okay? and there were some things your nose just didn't get used to)_. of course, there was also a lot of commentary on the passersby, the cars and their drivers, even the security at the doors of their target's building)

\---

After a couple days' surveillance they had a clear picture of the guard rotation and a shallow understanding of their personalities since the agency hadn't thought this mission of high enough importance for an actual recon team to be sent beforehand.

Stiles had spent a good two hours in the shower and had tossed out the clothes he'd been wearing while living on the streets. He fixed his hair into something bordering on inappropriate for a corporate meeting, dressed in the suit that'd been waiting for him in the morning and with a final long look at the mirror, dropped into character.

He met people and told them the things they expected. He smiled when they wanted and complimented when it was necessary and then he was in.

When he finally found himself alone in a bathroom, he opened the briefcase that'd been waiting with the suit. Inside he found a bottle of acid _(why?)_ , his lock picks and some clothes to change into.

When he's changed, he secrets the lock picks in the pocket on his thigh and the acid bottle into a sturdier, lightly-armoured pocket along his side. He switches his comm on and hails Peter _(or perun when someone might be listening)_. After he's gotten an affirmative that he's coming through loud and clear, he shimmies into the air vents.

From there he needs to trust Peter to get him where he needs to go.

It takes a while and he actually manages to make a few wrong turns even with Peter having the latest blueprints but finally he finds himself in the vent leading to the correct office. He listens for a couple of minutes to make sure no-one's there before he lifts the grate gently and stops to make sure no-one heard it. When he's certain he's alone, he drops down (and he has to admit the mission impossible style silent stealthing around has to be his favourite part of this gig) and scans the room.

It doesn't take him long to find the computer and then the files they're here for. He plugs in the USB drive when Peter tells him and then goes to finding the safe that should be somewhere in the room.

The safe is easier to find than he expects but then he notices the lock.

"Motherfucker! Perun, did you know this fucking thing has a voice-activated lock on it?" He says all of this in a low murmur even if he wants to shout in frustration.

There's a moment of judging silence on Peter's end and then the bastard drawls all low and smooth and probably a perfect Bond-copy, "It was a possibility we were aware of, yes, and I told you but apparently you weren't listening."

He huffs with something like indignation and mumbles, "Well, excuse me, if I'd rather focus on checking my gear than listening to you telling me for the third time about the assistant deputy chief's atrocious abilities in poker." A moment of silence. "And, you could've always made sure I was listening when you actually changed to something important."

He shimmies the acid out carefully while Peter says something about impossible brats with the attention span of a squirrel.

He eyes the acid with something like trepidation. He takes a deep breath, goes to open it and then just has to ask, "You're sure this won't like evaporate straight into the air _I'm breathing_  and melt my insides the moment I open it?"

A sigh followed by a slightly patronising, "No, Veles, you won't die the moment you open it. I'd rather not have to train someone new to acceptability."

Stiles thinks for a moment and braces himself before starting to work on the safe's hinges.

It takes longer than he'd like but finally the door falls on the floor. Well, almost, he has reflexes after all (even if the door weighs far more than he'd expected).

Thank fuck, he thinks (and almost says louder than he really should) when he finds the paper copies they need among the mess of things in the safe.

He makes sure he has everything, places the door back the best he can and removes the thumb drive when Peter tells him and shimmies back into the vents just in time for the door to crack open and voices to start filtering in. There's laughter just as he turns a corner and then the sound of a door closing harder than strictly necessary.

He almost curses out loud when he hears the safe door crash onto the floor in the distance. He does curse long and loud when the alarm goes off.

(and, it turns out, he really _really_ needed to know about the assistant deputy chief's atrocious poker skills to make his escape. and don't ask him how that and peter barking directions in his ear end with him out of the building before everything gets locked down, he doesn't believe it himself. he was so gonna get his ass handed to him once he was a safe distance away. the thought already made him cringe.)

***

"Veles, shut up, get the job done and get out before the cops get there."

His eyes were glued to the screens showing all available security cam feeds as well as the feeds from the few cameras agency operatives had managed to get in place before the event started. There was something about those security guards putting him on edge.

"But, Peeeruuun," the brat whined in his ear, "this fucking sleet is getting all over my favourite rifle, my baby, no! my," a heartbeat of silence and Peter watched one of the targets go down, "queen. I don't know," another pause, another body, "how I'm ever paying this back to her."

Blessed silence and several more went down (some with shattered kneecaps because they didn't want them _all_ dead) with the only sound from Stiles' side the thwip of his silenced rifle. Peter didn't know what customization Stiles had had done on his gun but he'd never heard gunshots so quiet.

He heard Stiles take a breath to continue his whining, so he tried to pre-empt, or at least minimize, his headache. "I'll pay for the cleaning or any new parts you need if you just _shut up about the goddamned rifle_ and _get the hell out of dodge_."

Peter could practically see Stiles' considering face, even as he listened to the agent disassembling his rifle.

(he'd never admit to holding his breath)

Stiles had just chirped an overly cheerful _fine_ , when he noticed someone's presence from the corner of his eye and he almost pulled a knife but before he could embarrass himself, the identity of the intruder registered and he just sneered.

"Rhys. What do you want?"

The annoying blond just smiled that thousand-watt pretty boy smile of his _(and peter knew there was something dark behind that smile, he just hadn't figured out, yet, what it was)_. "That's quite an asset, you got there."

He narrowed his eyes having caught the subtle emphasis on asset. If Rhys thought he was letting Stiles be reassigned to the slimy bastard, he'd learn why exactly even Deucalion was wary of truly angering Peter.

***

For once, Peter isn't at headquarters or even one of the branch offices. No, this time they needed to sent him on location with Stiles _(not that anyone bothered to tell peter_ why _exactly that was being done)_. Not that they, of course, saw each other even though they probably were on the same flight.

They land and Peter gets out of the airport as fast as he can and immediately remembers why he hates missions in Africa. It's hot and loud and there's people peddling their wares everywhere and a bug bite can give him a deadly disease.

He hates it.

***

Stiles was excited about this mission. He's never been to Zambia before. Well, really, he hasn't been to anywhere in Africa before but hey, baby steps.

And there'd been this hot blond on the flight over from Johannesburg, maybe he'd be able to track the guy down for some fun if the mission goes down exactly as planned (here's to hoping and praying to all the gods he can remember).

He steps out of the airport and breathes the air in. There's people everywhere and noise all around him and the temperature's on the hotter side but nothing he can't handle.

He already loves it.

***

He's lying on a roof with his rifle pointed towards the street with the masses cheering on the sides. Peter's voice relaying the position of the convoy and reminding him that the target was in the last car playing bodyguard. Body doubles and political assassinations, he'd sneered and whined about it the whole way to the building and then through assembling his rifle.

Somehow, so far, no-one has noticed the extra sniper in their midst. Yet.

(and he thanks every deity he can think of for that)

\---

Of course, the moment he takes the shot every one of the guards and security personnel start looking for him but that's fine, it was expected, after all.

He barely manages to duck down from the shot coming from the roof of the opposite building. Thankfully there's at least some cover and he manages to disassemble his rifle before booking it towards the stairs.

He barely hears Peter shouting for him to duck over the sudden hail of gunfire aimed at him. Jesus Christ, these Zambians take their security seriously. It's almost worse than that time he barely managed to dodge the Marshals.

He knows his swearing up a storm even as he runs down the stairs. He stops for a breath when he hits the door to the back alley that's the start of his first getaway route. He stops cursing, slings his duffle over his shoulder and steps into the alley like nothing's happened.

He almost gets to the end of the alley before there's a shout behind him and Peter tells him to run.

He's not a hundred percent on what happens next, he never is. The adrenaline takes over and he just moves. He only knows that Peter keeps calling turns for him to take and warning him of hostiles.

He takes a turn and the only thing that comes to mind is "fuck" when he sees the pile-up completely cutting off the road. There's yelling from the drivers and shouts from somewhere behind him to freeze and surrender and...

He freezes _(he knows he shouldn't but he does)_.

His brain, that usually runs a hundred miles a minute, just stops and there's a ringing in his ears. The only thing he can think of is _Dad'll never know what happened to me_.

Someone grabs his arm and he pulls a knife on them pressing it against their throat the moment the two of them are out of sight in some sort of abandoned shop.

Thankfully, the person doesn't say anything as the guards and the police run past the store and then the yelling from the accident site increases and he thinks there's something about doing their jobs and something else he can't understand.

He slumps slightly in relief and then the stranger speaks.

"Well, you're even prettier up close."

For the second time in under five minutes, Stiles' brain freezes. He knows that dark honey voice but before he can register anything but deep blue eyes and slightly tousled hair, his attention is drawn by the wings.

Wings that weren't there a moment ago. Wings that are just unfurling like their stretching out after being cramped for ages. Wings that remind him of blood-splattered onyx.

He knows he's gaping but there's nothing he can do about it.

A beat of  silence. Another.

Then they both hiss "shit" almost simultaneously.

There's rules after all. Rules about fraternization between ranks. Rules about soulmates working together.

(stiles absentmindedly pulls the knife away from peter's neck)

But especially rules about mixing those two.

Strict, _strict_ rules about it that practically boil down to _It won't happen. Stop dreaming._

He turns it around and around and around in his head, tries to imagine himself with a different handler, a different voice in his ear, a different person that wouldn't be able to match him sass for snark. He can't do it. He can't imagine not working with Peter, and that's when he decides to say _fuck it all_.

He bites his lip _(will peter want to follow him? will he want to throw away presumable years of presumable hard work?)_ before suggesting, calm and steady, "We could quit."

He waits.

\---

Peter's eyes widen and he draws in a breath. He thinks about years trying to reach Talia's expectations and always falling short. He thinks about Deucalion's condescension and wanting to bury a knife between his ribs. He thinks about Laura and Derek and Cora and leaving them under their mother's overbearing care but also about Rhys and Valack and Kali and getting away from their constant attempts at backstabbing, blackmail and getting a leg up any way possible _(even if it means getting legs around someone)_.

But most of all, he thinks about years and years of blood (some of it his, most of it others') and sweat (this time mostly his) and tears (most _definitely_ not his) spend and poured and bled to get where he is now. He thinks about the goal of getting to Talia's level of influence or maybe even being her boss.

He thinks about the impossibility of ever being good or trustworthy enough for the Directors and Department Heads to let him get that high. He thinks he's been fooling himself thinking he'll ever advance that far.

He closes his eyes, thinks about all of it for a second more and just... lets go of it all.

He opens his eyes, locks on Stiles' waiting gaze and smiles.

"Yeah, we could."

(and if he sounds awed and slightly reverent, it's because here's someone whose first instinct was to offer him freedom instead of how to use their situation)

***

Everyone stopped and stared as Peter walked through the halls of headquarters towards Talia's office. It's not like he could begrudge them their open gawking, after all, his wings are magnificent.

When he arrived at Talia's door, he gave a cursory knock before walking in. Wonderful, he thought, Deucalion was present as well. He smiled his best fake, plastic smile at Talia _(and somehow she'd never realized what that smile covered even with her supposed skills)_ , slapped all the necessary papers, waivers and NDAs on her desk and just to drive it home, said with clear articulation and absolutely no room for argument, "I quit."

He barely had the time to see Talia's mouth open and her eyes widen in shock _(her wings with their slightly delayed reactions were just starting to rise into a confrontational pose)_  before he turned around and with a cordial nod to Deucalion, walked out of the office.

It was exactly as freeing as he'd thought it would be.

(of course, rhys tracked him down when he was gathering his things from his desk and gloated about getting stiles. he didn't bother to correct the annoying asshat.)

***

The shop... The _coffee_ shop was entirely Stiles' fault and he wouldn't budge on that point even if stopping the apocalypse was at stake but what was he supposed to do when Stiles laid out his reasoning with a bullet-point list with the pros and cons clearly marked and thought out. Yeah, they lived in a college town (because stiles was still in college) but it also meant a clientele that would kill for a cheap cup of coffee and free wifi. Yeah, it was a service industry but it also meant college students that could be hired who just wanted some extra cash and weren't looking to make a career out of it.

(yeah, it was a college town with hipsters and all sorts of other _soy-mocha-frappuccino-and-don't-burn-the-beans-this-time_ idiots that would get all over their nerves _but_ , and stiles stressed that this was an important but, it was a town with a college with a kickass exchange program and who knew where all these history majors and wannabe-lawyers and what-have-yous would end up and if they just happened to stay in touch with that nice barista from that awesome coffee shop who always had good advice or just a friendly smile on an awful day, well... who would they be to say no to someone bitching about their work to a friend?)

(most importantly, who would ever suspect a coffee shop of being any kind of a front for anything? and if talia or deucalion did, well, it's not like _they_ were doing anything, they couldn't stop their employees or acquaintances from wanting to do favours. and really, they could just stick to the coffee, if peter wanted. stiles wasn't actually itching to get back to the game of do-i-die-today-or-not. even if the cash really was good now that stiles knew what he was doing.)

***

Lydia arrived six months later in a whirlwind of perfect fashion, three times too many books for her size and eyes that promised death to anyone who stood between her and her coffee. The customers currently in the shop, well-accustomed to different variations of that look, just made room for her where necessary before going back to their essays or whatever other assignments they were doing.

After three hours and six cups of different dark roasts, when she'd calmed considerably (and was well on her way to over-energized) she walked up to the counter and told Peter that he needed someone who knew what they were doing with the coffee beans and who to get the best quality for the best price from and she'd do that, _this once_ , if only because _Shadowed Brew_ (or _shadow_ as the locals had quickly started calling it) was the only coffee shop in town with a bearable decor.

(a week later she was bitching, in a lydia way, which involved a lot of condescension and some snide remarks, to stiles about the lack of all necessary reference texts in her current collection of books and how she didn't want to walk to the library just to find out they didn't have the newest quantum mechanics texts and stiles got that spark in his eye and peter resigned himself into expanding so they could become some sort of library)

(a month later, _shadow_ closed for two weeks for renovations and opened again as the newly-christened _shadow book & brew_ to the delight of the extremely grumpy masses that'd had to make do with chain store coffee while _shadow_ was closed)

***

As much as the wings were pure energy they still connected to a person's nervous system, or as the more fanciful put it, their soul. This meant, of course, that touching someone's wings if you weren't their soulmate, especially with your own, was taboo at the least and tantamount to rape in some cultures. Some unlucky few had even been thrown in jail for forcing their wings to touch others' but that hadn't happened in decades, at least not in the US, and well, no-one liked talking about that period in time when touching wings was a crime punishable by death because most of the time it really was pure accident and both sides were victims in the end.

Of course, there were also those cults that thought wing-touching was somehow harmonizing souls with others and would bring world peace or something if everyone just followed along but they weren't really talked about except for when they made the news for one reason or another and even then it was only to tut in judgment.

***

Jordan had stumbled in one spring day with glazed eyes, a duffel bag and wearing worn jeans, a faded t-shirt and a well-fitting leather jacket. Stiles had zeroed in on him the moment the door had opened and he'd gone over with a free cup of coffee and a kind ear. His dad and most of the deputies back home were, after all, vets of some kind.

Slowly and gently he'd coaxed out the story of an IED, and some insurgents, taking out the convoy Jordan had been part of as well as the other soldiers with him. Jordan had laughed bitterly when he said that the only reason he'd survived was that he'd been knocked out in the initial chaos of the explosion. He'd wandered the wilds of Afghanistan for an unknown amount of time before he'd managed to stumble into a, thankfully, friendly village.

The military in the area had been contacted, he'd been picked up and stitched up and discharged with a medal for dumb fucking luck and passing out while his brothers were killed and sent on his way with nothing but a pat on the back and a speech that amounted to _shit happens, son_.

Stiles had squeezed Jordan's hand at that and offered to look after the medal if Jordan didn't want it and help get him in contact with someone that could understand.

(stiles could recognise spec-ops five miles away by now and he wasn't letting an asset like that get away. judging by peter's smirk, his soulmate knew exactly what he was doing.)

(when jordan literally ran into lydia when he was leaving one afternoon and mumbled an apology there was a moment of breathless silence and then lydia's only slightly shaky voice saying "well, of course, you'd be here")

(stiles and peter both found it interesting how lydia's wings were a slightly tattered grey and jordan's were a mix of red-orange-yellow that made them look like they were on fire)

***

"Sister dear, so lovely to see you. How can I help you?" Peter watched as Talia's face went from its casual neutral as she observed his little corner of the world to something closer to "Peter don't make this more difficult than it needs to be and especially not in _public_ ". He'd always prided himself on being the only one able to create that expression in his usually emotionally-balanced older sister _(looking, only looking,_ something hissed inside him _you never could handle cracks in your facade of a  perfect life, **sister** dear)_.

Talia leaned in closer than really was proper for their current setting and hissed, "What are you playing at, Peter?"

He could feel his smile drop and the comforting weight of Stiles' attention settled on his shoulders almost immediately. He raised a brow in question before drawling, "I'm not playing at anything, Talia. I wanted out from under your stifling influence and the politics of the _game_." he put something mocking into the last word that even he couldn't identify, "So, I got out and started this lovely place." He spread his arms to encompass the whole... mess of a shop the café had grown into with some, only slightly forceful, input from Stiles and, of course, Lydia.

He smirked when he noticed Talia's wings rippling with the need to burst wide and cower him into obedience _(not that it had ever worked but she kept trying for some reason)_. He let his own lazily rise a little in a move that said something along the lines of _you're not going to intimidate me, especially not on my own turf_.

Talia actually hissed like a snake or an offended cat at the move and her wings spread out suddenly and violently, brown and white and on the larger end. There were gasps from some of the students scattered around buried in their books and laptops who'd come for a soft seat, free wifi and some truly awesome coffee (stiles' words, not his) and then a sharp snap of "rude" from behind Talia. When she turned, they could both see Stiles seated slightly to the side from where she was standing, shaking and moving his vibrantly coloured wings in discomfort and Peter saw red. He grabbed Talia's arm and pulled her to the back.

"If you ever again step even one foot into this establishment, I'm going to have you charged with trespassing and harassment." He stopped there to rein in his temper and when he looked up at Talia, she actually looked shocked. But it was the sight of her wings, _the wings that had touched his **soulmate's**_ that had him saying cold as a glacier, "You had better hope, he doesn't have you charged with assault and interfering with a soulbond."

Talia opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Peter, I - -" she stalled and started again, "I didn't mean - -" This time he cut her off, "I don't care what you meant. I'm not going to allow my business to get a reputation for allowing _touchers_ in." he sneered. Then softer, as he opened the backdoor, "Goodbye, Talia. Have a good life."

He waited until she'd passed before closing and locking the door.

Stiles had taken over behind the register and he was cheerfully serving a customer when Peter arrived but he could see the twitching in Stiles' wings, the obvious discomfort. So, after the customer had left, with his third cup of the day, he wrapped his arms and wings around Stiles letting his black mesh with Stiles' blue-green-purple. It took a moment but Stiles did relax into him and his wings finally stopped twitching.

"I'm sorry." he murmured into his lover's neck uncaring of all the witnesses. Most of them were regulars anyway and already knew him and Stiles pretty well.

"Not your fault." Stiles murmured back.

***

On the other side of the street, with a clear visual of the cuddling pair, Talia felt awful for what she'd done, no matter how accidental, but happy for his brother. She'd have them surveilled just in case but there would be no interference on his brother's business as long as he didn't do anything that could be construed as trying to get back into the intelligence game or sabotaging Blackwood Security or its business.

**Author's Note:**

> Missed tags are appreciated and reviews are loved. :)
> 
> First of all, I know fuck-all about Zambia and me choosing it has nothing to do with anything except basically closing my eyes and pointing at a map of Africa. (because i wanted something to happen in africa)
> 
> Second, I'm not all that happy with the ending mostly because, well... am I the only one getting origin story/needs a sequel vibes from this? (i mean, I'M DEFINITELY NOT PROMISING ANYTHING, i'm just saying i'm getting a vibe)
> 
> [Perun](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perun) being the highest god in the Slavic pantheon. Basically their version of Odin or Zeus. Chosen purely on the basis of him being depicted as a hawk or eagle, and being from Slavic mythology.
> 
> [Veles](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veles_\(god\)) being, among other things, the god of the underworld in Slavic mythology and associated with magic and snakes and wolves. Often compared to Loki and Hermes. Chosen because he's a trickster god and Stiles will always get associated with tricksters in my head.
> 
> Aaaand I feel like I'm forgetting something but eh, I'll edit it in if I ever remember it :D And, as always, ask all the questions you want. :)
> 
> //edit: Aah, yes. If you have any ideas concerning the sequel or if there's something you'd really love to see in it, SHARE WITH THE CLASS, darlings. At the moment, one of my main bullet points *coughsproblemscoughs* in the outline is literally "plot happens?" :D
> 
> (and if you wanna keep an eye on that sequel and IF it ever even happens, i'm on [tumblr](http://poutingtrolltroll.tumblr.com/) whining/ranting about writing and everything related on a semi-regular basis)


End file.
